


Jerri

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Vignette, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:28:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22110328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hank can’t leave Connor alone for five minutes.
Relationships: Connor/Jerry(s) (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 10
Kudos: 78





	Jerri

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Hank hates waiting in the car. It’s the one area where an android’s finally taken over his job, because when a mission calls for delicacy, requires just one person, _Hank_ is the one that should step forward, and Connor should be a good little poodle and wait in the passenger seat where he belongs. But given that they’re dealing with a bunch of rogue androids that could easily shoot Hank on sight, he’s begrudgingly allowed his prize poodle to go on ahead. Except it’s been a good twenty minutes and still _nothing_. It’s entirely possible that Connor was shot as fast as Hank would’ve been. Or, worse, Connor’s just completing the whole operation without him. 

Hank waits another two minutes, then thinks of how he could be drunk off his ass and at home already, and he practically kicks the car door open. He hobbles out into the whirling snow and huffs through what used to be a sidewalk. A rundown fence blocks off the remnants of an abandoned theme park, where several dozen androids were reportedly staying. It’s Hank and Connor’s job to deactivate them all, or at least have them surrender. Just in case Connor didn’t manage, Hank pulls out his gun and sticks to the shadows. A few blinking streetlights bolster what little illumination the stars provide. He waits and listens before he rushes in, but he can’t hear anything inside. 

Around the corner, he can’t see anything either. Metallic rides are sinking down with snow and age, signs vandalized and tents torn. Kids have obviously gotten inside. Hank makes his way through carefully, hating the crunch of the snow under his boots, because soon or later, it’s going to give him away. 

He spots the depressingly undecorated washroom building behind a couple dilapidated food trucks and heads there, walking quicker when he hears something bang inside. By the time he’s at the door, he can hear scraping and gasping sounds—sounds androids shouldn’t make. Sometimes it _seems_ like Connor breathes, but Hank knows that’s only a simulation put on for his sake. He flattens himself against the wall and holds his gun at the ready, debating calling Connor’s name. Maybe it is Connor inside. But maybe it’s not, and Hank will need the element of surprise. 

He makes up his mind and turns, kicking in the door and rushing through. Connor is indeed inside, back against the far concrete wall. 

He’s surrounded by a dozen scantily clad male androids in disheveled uniforms. Connor’s tie is on the floor, right under Hank’s foot. Connor’s jacket is draped over one of the stalls. His shirt’s unbuttoned all the way to the naval, showing off the broad expanse of his chiseled chest, all his creamy skin and rosy nipples, shimmering with artificial saliva and no signs of sweat. His pants are drawn across his thighs, his legs hiked high up—there’s an android lying on the floor that Connor sitting on, its pants also down, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re doing. Connor’s dick arches up off his stomach, horribly _human_ , thick and long and pink at the tip, already spitting precum. The androids on either side of Connor have their hands on his bare flesh, their open mouths nipping at his chin and ear and thighs. Connor’s even _blushing red_ , though his blood’s supposed to be blue.

Hank _stares_. The android under Connor thrusts up, and Connor makes a choking noise, lips parting to gasp. His brown eyes are half-lidded and heavily dilated. They catch instantly on Hank, and for the first time since Hank’s known him, Connor doesn’t seem to have any words. 

The myriad of half-naked clones crowded into the public washroom don’t seem to give a shit about Hank or the snow wafting in through the open door. They’re all clamouring to get a taste of Connor. Connor licks his pretty lips and says, “Lieutenant, I can explain—”

Hank snaps up. His gaze roamed down to Connor’s cock again, stuck there—he had no idea Connor was _that_ accurate. Had even less of an idea that Connor was programmed to _fuck_. Or _be fucked_. It would’ve been nice to know. It weirdly hurts to know he wouldn’t share that with Hank, his _damn partner_ , but would share it with a bunch of deviant strangers in a dirty washroom. Hank’s got a nice-ish apartment and everything. 

Hank doesn’t know what to say either. Somewhere along the line, he’s at least lowered his gun. 

While the androids continue to fondle him, Connor breathlessly explains, “I apologize, but I needed to understand the strength of the deviancy, and sexual tendencies are—”

“Bullshit,” Hank finally cuts in. “You just wanted to get laid!” Which is absurd because Hank’s been _right there_ the whole time. Maybe he’s not as young or fit or anywhere near as attractive as the models currently fucking Connor, but he’s _alive_ , and a real dick has got to be better than a fake one, even if Connor’s looks gorgeous. Hank could probably do all sorts of tricks the soulless machines around them couldn’t. And if Connor wanted to be strapped down to a fucking machine, he could’ve at least called Hank in to supervise. 

Connor’s temple’s going crazy, flashing through yellow and even flecks of red in obvious distress. He insists, “Lieutenant, I didn’t mean—”

“Save it, Traci,” Hank bitterly grumbles. He thrusts his gun into his halter and sucks in a tremendous bout of will power, forcing himself to turn away from the sight of his handsome partner being thoroughly debauched. 

It takes everything he has to march out of the washroom, but he does, more because he’s embarrassed than because he’s angry. But he doesn’t mind if Connor thinks he’s angry. That’s better than the truth. 

He can hear Connor calling his name and scrabbling after him, but Hank keeps walking until his thoroughly sullied partner sullenly joins him in the car.


End file.
